


Stitched Hearts

by NyxWordsmith



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Bloggin RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Car Accident, Death, Denial, Drink Driving, Drunk Minor Characters, Grief, HospitalAU, Isolation, M/M, Mention Of Arguing, Nurse!Logan, Nurse!Virgil, Panic, Surgeon!Patton, self-neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxWordsmith/pseuds/NyxWordsmith
Summary: Logan Smith and Virgil Micheals are natural loners. Which is why it was a surprise when they became fast friends in med-school, considering they're goals in medicine are so different.It's even more of a surprise when Virgil falls head over heels for the pediatric surgeon, Patton Cooper, and Logan falls for a particularly flirty patient, Roman Prince.How in the world are these two extreme introverts ever going to understand romance, let alone approach them about it?





	1. The Christmas to Ruin All Christmases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan hasn't always hated Christmas, he just disliked it.  
>  Until he turned seventeen, when his life was literally turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is more of a collection of oneshots, slipped into choronological order. It's more something I write for tumblr when I have a hard time figuring out what to write. I might eventually write a proper fic for it. Please enjoy anyway!
> 
> Warnings for this Chapter: Grief, Denial, Car Accident, Alcohol, Drink Driving, Death, Panic, Self-neglect, Isolation, Drunk Minor Characters, Mention of Arguing

 Logan hadn’t always hated Christmas. He just couldn’t really remember a time where he particularly _liked_ it.

 When he was younger, it had been exhausting, mentally and physically, to be surrounded by so many relatives all day. People he barely knew, grinning like alley cats, laughing like hyenas, acting like they _knew_ him at all.

 His cousins were dull, his parents were too busy getting wasted to notice his discomfort, his aunts were overbearing and his uncles were… _droll_.

 His grandmother had been the only relative he even particular enjoyed being around.

 Every year, Logan would pack for the week he was inevitably going to spend at his grandparent’s home. Every year, he would greet relatives with gritted teeth mistaken for a smile. Every year, they would _hug_ him and ruffle his hair and pinch his cheeks. They’d comment on how much he’d grown, or how serious he’d become or how good his grades were.

 Like they _cared_.

 And after the pleasantries, while his parents started on their second or third glass of _something_ alcoholic, he’d catch his grandmother’s eye across the room.

 She’d wave him over with a knowing gleam in her eye, he’d grab his bag too heavy to carry, and hurry over to her side. Silently, she would take him by the hand and they would retreat to her reading room, where Logan would curl up on the floor and she in her chair.

 They’d sit in silence for hours, the only sound between them being the turning of pages and their breathing. As the years wore on, his grandmother’s breathing grew more laboured. Logan grew too tall to sit in the corner, and sat by her chair.

 It was the Christmas to ruin all Christmases.

 The winter was particularly bitter that year, if Logan recalled correctly. It had also been a grim year.

 Studying had helped keep Logan from accepting the truth of what this Christmas would entail. But now it was here, looming over him like a precariously balanced tower of railway spikes and barbed wire.

 And yet, he refused to acknowledge the grinning jackal nipping at his heels.

 The car ride was quiet and grim. Hushed murmurs between his parents, concerned glances to the backseat, hushed arguments.

 Logan purchased a pair of headphones at the first gas station and spent the remainder of the ride listening to his music as loud as possible to drown out the arguing.

 Standing before his grandparent’s house, breath escaping him as small puffs of white air, Logan was faced with the grim reality.

 The concerned glances had turned to painted smiles by the time his parents reached the front door. Seventeen, Logan went through his usual motions. Gritted teeth, stiff hugs and pleasant commentary.

 There was no kind face to catch his attention at the end of the room. No warm, understanding smile to drag him to the reading room. He was alone in a crowd of people he barely knew, adrift in a sea with no life raft.

 No one noticed when Logan hesitantly approached the door to the reading room. No one noticed as his hand trembled over the doorknob, his mind racing and flicking between reality and fantasy.

_She’ll be there._

_No, she won’t, she’s gone._

_Just reading, like always. Started early this year._

_You know she won’t. Accept it._

 No one watched the tall, thin student draw in a slow, deep breath and put his hand on the doorknob. It was cold, like a spike of ice. He felt like he was surrounded by oil as he turned the knob and stepped in.

 It was empty, and untouched. Her chair remained where it had always been, her reading glasses on the small table beside it.

 Like a pre-programmed machine, he stepped in and closed the door behind him. The silence weighed heavy and cold. He fidgeted with the white headphones dangling from the collar of his pale blue sweater vest.

 She was gone. Forever.

 He turned to the spot in the corner he had favoured as a child, forcing himself to curl himself up as small as he could physically manage. Thighs to his chest, feet under the chair, arms wrapped around his legs.

 To this day, some ten years later, Logan couldn’t tell you exactly how long he sat there in silence. How long he remained on that precarious knife edge between fantasy and reality.

 All he knew was when the reality finally crashed down on him, like a cold wave of ocean water during a storm, he thought Christmas could not get worse. He spent hours alone in the reading room, silently weeping into his knees.

 At some point, anger washed through him, fleeting and temporary, and he flung his glasses across the room. He recalled hearing the tell-tale crack as his frames hit the wall and the lens cracked.

 Logan recalled the anger flooding away as quickly as it had rushed up, leaving him cold and drained and numb. He wasn’t sure if it was the room or his heart that made him feel this way. Until he was called for dinner.

 Eyes red-rimmed and puffy, glasses cracked, Logan had opened the door to the reading room and looked up at his uncle. He didn’t comment. But he gave him that weak smile, the bare minimum of condolences, before asking him to join them for dinner.

 It wasn’t unusual for Logan to be quiet at the table. It wasn’t unusual for him to avoid eating. But the dinner itself was unusual that year.

 Raucous laughter was replaced with quiet murmurs. Drunken dares were replaced with snide remarks. Logan’s cousin nudged him in the ribs, glaring angrily, snarling about his glasses. Logan didn’t finish dinner that night.

 He sat in the reading room until the sun set. He tried to read, but tears blurred his vision and marked his pages. He put on his music, but couldn’t enjoy the melodies.

 It was the Christmas to ruin all Christmases.

 Logan completed the farewells like a checklist. Kiss Aunt May on the cheek, don’t inhale the smell of whiskey. Hug Uncle Buck, force a smile or he’ll ruffle your hair. Hug Stacey, she’s the youngest of your cousins and sensitive to perceived slights.

 Snow crunched under his shoes as he approached the car, hands shoved into his pockets, glancing up as his father struggled to put the keys in the door.

 “Would you like me to drive, dad?” Logan asked softly, his voice raw from his tears, eyes already burning.

 Swaying, face flushed, “Nah, your glasses are cracked.” He squinted as Logan frowned at him, “I’ll be fine.” He slurred, crying out in victory as his key slipped into the door at last.

 His mother barely managed to get into the car, “Are you sure, dad? You’re drunk.”

 His protest was ignored and Logan decided it was better to get into the car than to try and wait for a cab out in the freezing temperatures. It wouldn’t have mattered either way in the end. Reality had chilled him to the bones, sapped away any warmth he had, turned off his nerves to the possibility of a sunny day.

 If he’d only considered how much worse it could have gotten.

 The road was dark, snow danced in the air, his parents had started arguing. Logan didn’t bother with the music. He couldn’t hear them past the static in his own mind.

 Logan felt the car swerve slightly, finally turning his attention from the passing scenery to his parents. His mother screamed something. He could never remember what it was.

 “Like you can talk!” his father was leaning over the centre console, “Our laughed at-“

 The car swerved into the oncoming lane. Headlights approaching too fast.

 “ _Dad?!_ ”

 Crunching metal, shattering glass, jerking forward and then silence. Cold. Alone. Panic.

 Bloody fingers struggling to unclip his seatbelt. His parents silent in the front seat. Legs trapped behind his mother’s seat.

 The Christmas to ruin all Christmases.

 

*

 Logan develops a routine, and he has _always_ followed it. At his aunt’s home, in college, in med-school and even now, working at the hospital.

 December comes, and his car keys are abandoned in the kitchen. The front door opens on its own as Virgil let’s himself in, “Honey, I’m home!” he mocks, already dropping plastic bags of groceries on the floor as he sheds his gloves, “Where you at, specs?”

 “Kitchen.”

 “Taken those meds?”

 Logan grimaces as he looks at the two white pills in his hand.  With a sigh, he finally tosses them in his mouth and washes them down with water, “Have now.”

 A knowing laugh, the same he’s heard every December first for three years, “What about food?”

 Logan helps Virgil cart the groceries into the kitchen, “I had an apple before?” he offers, earning a proud smile from Virgil.

 “And how’d you sleep last night?”

 “Uh, about three hours.”

 “Progress is progress, Lo.” Virgil claps Logan on the shoulder, starting to pull various foods from the bags he’s brought with him, “How long ago?”

 “Mmm…twelve hours?” Logan is still dressed in the clothes he’d worn to work the day before, rumpled and creased. His hair is greasy and tangled, glasses crooked.

 “Take a shower.”

 Logan grimaces at him, “I have things to do.”

 “Like?”

 Virgil humours Logan with the question every day for the month of December. There’s no harm in asking. When he’ll get his way regardless.

 This year, Logan blinks slowly at Virgil, before huffing and walking down the hall to shower. Virgil smirks at his friend’s back as he disappears into the bathroom, sighing with a shake of his head.

 A sleepy Logan reappears twenty minutes later, “I did my hair.” He waves, rubbing at his scruffy chin.

 “Good. Come have some water.” Logan grimaces, sighs and drinks it.

 “I’m…gonna have a nap.” Logan yawns, “I think.”

 “Mmm?” Virgil guides Logan to the lounge room.

 “Yeah. I think I will.” Logan sits on the couch, pulling off his glasses and putting them on the coffee table before him, “I don’t want to sleep.”

 Virgil drapes a blanket over Logan’s shoulders, “I know.” He watches as Logan lies himself down, and wraps the blanket tighter around himself.

 Logan fights sleep as Virgil starts a fire in their small fireplace, watching it for a few moments until Virgil returns by his side.

 “You know, I’m proud of you.” Virgil gently brushes hair from Logan’s eyes as the over-tired nurse looks up at him, “You nearly took your medication by yourself; you had something to eat; had a shower; and you even recognised how tired you were and decided to have a nap.” Logan’s eyes fill with tears.

 “I don’t want to be home for Christmas.”

 “Work has a party on Eve?”

 Logan nods, hiding half of his face in the blanket, blinking his tears back, “I hate Christmas.”

 “I know.”


	2. The Christmas Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil finally convinced Logan to join him at the Christmas party, but the nerd is proving to be as difficult as ever. And it doesn't help that Patton, the cute surgeon in pediatrics, wants to talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Drunk Characters, Alcohol

 

 Virgil really didn’t like parties. He really didn’t like most of his co-workers. Well, maybe except Logan…and _Patton_.

 It didn’t help that the surgeon was so _nice_. Virgil had expected to hate the paediatric surgeon. From a distance he seemed so… _fake_. Like those people in high school that only become friends with you because they want something. And yet, when they’d met, Virgil couldn’t deny the depth of sincerity he’d seen in those big brown eyes.

 Virgil sighed into his cup, _Lord help me._

 “Hey there!”

 Speak of the devil…

 “Patton!”

 …and he’ll appear.

 Virgil looked up through his hair, not surprised to see the surgeon cheerfully greeting another nurse on the other end of the room. His immediate feelings? Conflicted. He desperately wanted to go and say hello, strike up conversation, be _normal_. He also wanted to hide under the table and turn invisible for the rest of his life.

 He wanted to kick himself. He was a grown ass man! Nearly _thirty_! And here he was, acting like a goddamn high schooler!

 He sighed deeply, trying to calm the sudden rush anxiety. There was no point getting himself all worked up over nothing. Patton probably didn’t even remember him-

 “Virgil?”

 Oh _shit_.

 “Hey!” Patton beamed at him, and Virgil barely remembered to breathe, “How are you?”

 Patton was almost a head taller than him, holding out a hand for Virgil to shake. Clumsily, Virgil pried one of his hands from around his cup and awkwardly shook Patton’s hand. Just like when they met, he had a firm grasp that softened a little around Virgil’s timid, weak handshake.

 “I’m, uh…I’m okay. I guess. You?” Virgil struggled to find words, and move them to his mouth. He was too focused on how Patton was beaming at him, eyes shining behind his pale blue glasses.

 “I’m doing alright. Christmas is stressful.” He tilted his head with an understanding grin, “You look a little flushed, are you sure you’re okay?”

  _You’re still holding my hand, man._ “Uh, yeah.” Virgil tried to smile, unsure if it came out warm or more like an awkward sneer. Holy crap, he wasn’t used to interacting with actual people.

 Patton finally looked down at his hand, “Oh! I’m sorry!” he let go hastily, laughing as he put his hand in his pocket, “I forgot to let go, silly me!”

 Virgil felt his cheeks burning even hotter, wrapping his hand back around his cup and hiding behind the rim of it, “It’s okay.” He mumbled, shrinking a little before him.

 “Well, it was nice to see you again.” Patton’s voice pitched unusually low, “Maybe we could…talk later?”

 Virgil’s eyes widened. _He wants to talk to me? But I-_ “Sure, yeah.” Virgil couldn’t help the small smile that curled at the corners of his mouth, “That’d be…cool.”

 Patton beamed again, “Wonderful! See you soon!” he waved as he wandered back into the party and Virgil shyly waved back, letting his hand drop to his side again.

 The surgeon _wanted_ to talk to him? Oh god. What if this was about work? Virgil did _not_ want to talk about work. He was on leave for the next two weeks, he wanted to enjoy it!

 Still…

 Virgil glanced back up from the rim of his cup through his hair, where Patton was laughing with another surgeon. He could probably talk to Patton about _anything_ and enjoy it.

 “You have it rather bad, don’t you?”

 Virgil yelped, jumping a little before turning to the intruder of his personal bubble. Logan smirked at him, head tilted to the side, pale blue eyes shining at him behind his black rimmed glasses. It was clear that the nerd had been drinking. His cheeks were tinted pink, and his language was far more relaxed than usual.

 “Wha-what? No.” Virgil scowled at him, but Logan laughed softly, batting his hand at him.

 He leant against the wall beside Virgil, sipping at what looked like whiskey, “You are adorable when you’re flustered.”

 “Logan?! What the fuck?!” Virgil whisper-shouted, shoving Logan to the side. Logan roared with laughter, his head thrown back. The nerd was so tipsy already that he didn’t notice several nurses and surgeon’s staring at him in shock.

 Virgil blushed and shrank from their gazes as Logan collected himself, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he adjusted his glasses, “I suppose I have had a little too much to drink already.” He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, even though Virgil could see him trying, “I hate Christmas.”

 The younger nurse blinked at Logan, “Don’t you dare tell me it’s because of the marketing bullshit.”

 Logan snickered, taking a large gulp of his whiskey. Virgil winced. _Geez_.

 “I don’t have fond memories of Christmas.” Logan’s voice had suddenly become grim, his grin lost and in its place, a thoughtful, almost sad look. His eyes were unfocussed, glassy for a moment before he looked back down at his whiskey. When he blinked again, it was gone, “But that’s not what Christmas is about!” he was grinning again, looking up at Virgil, “Friendship and booze and all that!”

 Virgil couldn’t help but snicker at his friend, along with a few others around them. “Logan, you _should_ slow down.” He warned, “I’m not _carrying_ you home.”

 The usually serious one pouted at him, eyebrows knit together but his eyes shone with playful lights, “You’re no fun.”

 A genuine laugh actually escaped Virgil, “Now that’s a new one from you.”

 Logan sighed, throwing back the rest of his whiskey. _So much for slowing down_ , “I hate parties.”

 Virgil snickered, “Mood.”

 “What?” Logan looked genuinely bewildered, his dark hair falling in front of the lenses of his glasses, but he was too focussed on Virgil to care. Or maybe that was the alcohol, “ _Mood_?” he repeated.

 “Ah, like…I relate.” He waved his hand, hoping that was enough for Logan.

 His pale blue eyes widened with realization, “Oh!” a slow grin spread onto his face, “Mood…” he mused, “That’s…huh.” He went to sip at his whiskey, and pouted down at his empty glass, “How disappointing.”

 As much as Virgil would have preferred to be alone, he did _not_ trust Logan to watch his drinks. And the serious nurse already seemed eager for another one.

 Virgil caught him by the elbow when he pulled away for the bar, pulling him back, “I asked you to slow down, remember?”

 Logan blinked at him a few times, visibly searching his memory banks, “Yeah, you did.” He relaxed into a soft smile, “Did I mention that I hate Christmas?”

 Virgil snickered, “Yes, you did.” Virgil took the empty glass from him, but Logan immediately started fidgeting with his pale blue tie. Looking around quickly, Virgil found a small sculpture for the tipsy man to hold, “Find out any facts this week?”

 Logan lit up like a goddamned Christmas tree, but before he spilled any, a coy expression spread over his face. He leant closer to Virgil, wiggling his eyebrows, “I observed something this week.” He whispered conspiratorially to Virgil.

 “Hmm?” Virgil’s own eyebrows rose as he sipped at his drink.

 “ _You_ have giant crush on _Patton_.”

 Virgil choked on his drink, coughing hard as Logan laughed again, nearly falling backwards into the table behind him. All Virgil could do was glare at him. “Firstly, no, wrong, nope.” Logan snickered, “Secondly, will you _stand still_?”

 Logan toyed with the small sculpture in his fingers, “I’m almost _never_ wrong. You said so yourself.” He teased, falling back against the wall with his shoulder, “And yes. I can.”

 Virgil rolled his eyes, “You are honestly the strangest person I know.”

 “I am not strange.” He pouted, his glassy eyes showing more hurt than Virgil had intended, “I’m just…I dunno.” Logan looked down to his hands.

 “Whoa, Logan, I’m sorry.” Logan’s eyebrows knit together, “I wasn’t…I didn’t mean that to hurt.” With his head bowed, he looked up at Virgil. “You’re not strange. Unique, is probably more appropriate.”

 Logan sighed, looking back down at the sculpture, “That’s…a nicer one I’ve heard.” He admitted at a near whisper with a shrug, “But my point still stands.” He lifted his head suddenly, “You have it hard for paediatrics surgeon.” He whispered.

 Virgil was starting to see a pattern here. Logan was _not_ going to let this go until Virgil admitted it, got another drink in his hands, or they left. And even then, there was no guarantee he’d drop it at all.

 With a larger mouthful of his drink, he grimaced. Virgil didn’t actually like orange juice with vodka, but he didn’t want to say no…why didn’t he say no? He didn’t want this…

 “Ugh, Logan-“

 The more tipsy of the pair tilted his cup toward him with his index finger, frowning at the contents, “You don’t even like orange juice.”

 He would have snickered but Logan was pouting up at him, “No, but someone offered it to me-“

 “Weak.” He whispered, “C’mon!” he took Virgil by the cuff of his hoodie, pulling him through the crowd. Virgil tried to protest, or pull himself free, but _goddamn,_ Logan had the hell of a grip!

 Before Virgil realised it, they were at the bar and Logan had already ordered them their favourite drinks. Logan paid, handing Virgil his drink and wandering slowly back to their spot of the wall.

 “You didn’t have to do that.” Virgil muttered once they’d returned to their quiet corner of introvert heaven.

 “You don’t like orange juice.” Logan looked at him like that was enough of an answer.

 “No, but…I still would have finished it.”

 “But you _don’t like it_.” Logan continued, frowning a little, “You don’t…you can say _no_ , ya know?” He shifted his weight, “Don’t just…you can…”

 It was the first time Virgil had seen Logan struggle with his point, and he felt it didn’t have to do with the fact Virgil didn’t like orange juice. Gently, he put his hand on Logan’s shoulder, feeling him stiffen before he relaxed, “I think I know what you’re trying to say.”

 Logan sighed and relaxed further, “Good.” He whispered, “My head feels fuzzy.”

 Virgil smirked, “Uh, yeah. You’re tipsy.”

 The nerd snorted at him, “And I intend on getting sloppy.”

 Virgil’s eyebrows shot up, “Firstly, you’re picking up slang _really_ well.” Logan beamed proudly at him like a four-year-old, “Secondly, _why_?”

 “Because. I. Hate. Christmas.”

 “Alright, alright, geez. Sorry. But, uh, maybe save that for the clubs?” Virgil looked around the room, “Getting sloppy in front of your co-workers…”

 Logan frowned at him, then looked around the room, “Oh. _Oh_.” He shook his head, “Not sloppy _here_.”

 Virgil physically relaxed, “Oh thank _god_.” He whispered, taking a healthy sip of his bourbon.

 “You know, there are stars-“

 Virgil wasn’t at all surprised that Logan wanted to talk about space again. It was one of the few subjects he studied that he actually seemed passionate about. If the way his eyes lit up was an indicator. And Virgil couldn’t help but listen to him, even if he was far more animated now that he’d had something to drink.

 “Excuse me?” A familiar voice interrupted their debate about the effect of gravity on multiple bodies. Patton was smiling gently at Logan, who peered up at him and grinned. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but you were discussing gravity?”

 Patton was still considerably put together in comparison to Logan. Logan was already swaying, hair mussed, tie looser than he usually kept it. Even so, he had enough awareness to bite his lip and wiggle his eyebrows at Virgil.

 Who was _already_ blushing and hiding behind his hair. Now, he wanted to punch Logan out. At least then he’d keep his mouth shut.

 Logan ended up discussing theories with Patton for a while, and Virgil watched in awe as Patton managed to wordlessly take Logan’s drink from his hands. So enamoured in the discussion, Logan didn’t even notice when Patton perched the drink on a high bookshelf.

 It took him almost ten minutes to notice. Patton threw Virgil a sideways glance, with a smirk, as Logan stared at his hands, confused.

 “I…” he blinked a few times, “…have clearly had too much to drink.” He whispered as he looked around himself.

 “The stars look really nice from the roof, why don’t we all go and have a look?” Patton offered, looking between both Virgil and Logan.

 Virgil expected Logan to leap at the idea. Instead, he turned to Virgil with child-like excitement, eyes glittering. When did he become the _adult_? Logan was older than him by almost four years!

 “I mean, sure. Yeah. Why not?” Virgil shrugged and sipped at his drink.

 Patton looked a little worried, or was that disappointment? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t get a chance to find out, because Logan started dragging Patton out by his wrist and Virgil had to follow.

 After explaining to Valerie in passing, Virgil met them up on the roof. The air was brisk, sending a chill down Virgil’s back. Logan was staring up at the stars in awe, like the drunk moron he was, while Patton carefully kept his eye on Logan between pointing out stars.

 Virgil approached slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie and shoulders raised as he tried to keep warm. Patton spotted him first, beaming at him, but it slipped with uncertainty. What was Patton nervous about?

 “Look!” Logan pointed excitedly to another constellation and Virgil smirked, standing just behind the pair.

 About ten minutes in, Logan decided he was cold and declared that he was going to go inside. Virgil didn’t miss Logan’s sideways glance from the door, or his wicked grin.

 Maybe the nerd wasn’t as drunk as he’d lead them to believe.

 The sounds of the city were faint, horns honking and sirens blaring in the distance as Virgil and Patton looked up at the stars. After a long, awkward moment, Patton sighed, “Virgil…I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

 “Oh?”

 Patton dropped his head, “Have I…done something to offend you?”

 That…took Virgil completely by surprise, “What?”

 Patton fidgeted with his fingers, “I just mean…ya know…you’re kinda…I dunno…”

 Was the surgeon… _flustered_?!

 “You just never really seem interested in talking to me.”

  _Oh. My. God._

 “No!” Virgil’s mouth was working before he’d really thought of anything to say and Patton turned to look at him, “I mean, I just- what I meant was-“ he groaned, pulling at the sleeves of his hoodie, “I’m not very good with- I can’t-“

 “You’re…shy?” Patton offered, his hurt expression melting into one of relief and understanding. All Virgil could do was nod and Patton actually _sighed_ with relief, “Oh thank _god_.”

 Virgil stared up at him, “What?”

 “I just-“ Patton suddenly blushed, “I mean…” he cleared his throat, eyes wide as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I didn’t want us to be…at odds.”

 Why was the surgeon lying?

 His sandy blonde hair danced in the breeze, soft curls falling over his freckled nose and brown eyes. The full moon really didn’t help Virgil’s poor heart. Why did his gay ass have to work with such an attractive man?!

 “Would you…like to talk more?” Patton asked, “I don’t want to be too forward or weird or anyth-“

  _Oh my god. He is flustered!_

 “Um, yeah.” Virgil interrupted him before Patton talked himself into a tizzy. He smiled with relief, and _goddamn it,_ it _had_ to be _illegal_ to look that good.

 “Good!” he bounced onto his toes, “I mean,” he cleared his throat, rocking back onto his heels, “Good.”

 Virgil swallowed, “Um, I’m, uh…thirsty. Wanna go…back downstairs?”

 Patton smiled warmly at him, “Sure.”

 They walked back together, their silence still a little awkward but not nearly as heavy as before. The surgeon opened the door for him but waited for Virgil to enter first, warmly greeting some of the party-goers as they entered.

 Logan had found himself a new pair of ears to debate space with, who looked as eager and just as tipsy. Virgil faintly recalled their name being Joan, but he wasn’t quite sure. Patton was pulled into another conversation, apologising to Virgil who gave him a wave with a small smile.

 He was…disappointed. He really had liked Patton’s company, even if the man was far too attractive to be legal. No one should be that nice _and_ that pretty. He got himself another drink, retreating back to his corner of the room, and pulled out his phone.

 And time just seemed to _speed_ past around him. And the party got _significantly_ wilder while he’d been distracted. When he finally looked up, out of content and people to talk to, he was surprised and a little mortified by what he saw.

 Logan was standing on a table with Joan, belting out some old song at the top of his lungs, his dress shirt buttoned down halfway. His tie was loose around his neck, practically hanging from a thread, as several others danced around the table. Joan…didn’t actually look much better. They looked as drunk as Logan was.

 Patton was leaning against a wall, smiling to himself dreamily as he sipped at a cup of _something_ dark. The surgeon…his sandy blonde hair had come free of it’s hair tie, long loose locks falling over his shoulders. Smaller curls had fallen over his glasses, nearly hiding his brown eyes.

 A bright blush was spread over his cheekbones and nose, his lips quirked into a smirk, his own button down undone from the collar. His sweater vest was ruffled, the hem of his button down poking out of one side.

 Virgil ducked his head. He was _far_ too sober for this.

 He would have left if he wasn’t Logan’s means of getting home. He sighed, throwing back the rest of his drink before heading to the bar for a shot or two. It wasn’t enough to get him drunk, but it would make everything a little easier to deal with.

 He didn’t expect to get caught by Patton. Again.

 “Hey.” He leant down a little, bringing him closer to Virgil’s face, “Let’s talk, you and me, please?”

 “Sure.” Virgil felt a little less intimidated now that Patton was…well…drunk.

 Patton beamed, retreating back to his spot of the wall, close enough to the music and revelry to be enjoyable. “Hey,” Patton clearly needed the wall to keep his balance, “Why do you hide your face?” he asked gently, almost worried that Virgil had a serious reason.

 “I, uh…dunno. Kinda always have.” Virgil shrugged, “Since like…high school.”

 “Oh!” Patton turned so he was leaning against his shoulder, “It’s not like…scars, or anything?” he looked genuinely concerned.

 “Well…maybe a little.” Virgil sighed. This conversation always came up at least once. He reached up, sweeping his fringe back a little to reveal a pale white scar that jagged down over the bridge of his nose, “But I’d rather not talk about it.”  He let his hair fall down, averting his gaze and tapping the side of his glass.

 Patton was silent, eyes wide for a few moments, before he suddenly moved, taking Virgil’s cup and putting both of their drinks down beside him. Virgil stared, unsure if he should run or wait, but Patton pulled him closer, an arm snaking around his waist.

 Virgil yelped, hands coming up to press against Patton’s chest, but he was so close he only managed to trap his own arms. “Patton-?!”

 The surgeon was looking down at him intensely, brown eyes deeply troubled as he slowly reached up and pulled Virgil’s hair back again. Virgil felt small and uncomfortable in Patton’s hold like this. Even more so because he was scrutinising the scar.

 What he didn’t expect were the words Patton would say next.

 “You are _so damn_ pretty, you know that?”

 He breathed it out, like he couldn’t get his voice to work. Virgil couldn’t help but stare up at him, struck dumb by both their proximity and the words that had fallen out of Patton’s mouth.

 “Um, no?” he finally managed to answer, gently nudging at Patton as a sign to let him go.

 Patton either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, “You _are_.” He whispered. Before Virgil could process what was happening, his flustered brain lagging, Patton pressed a few kisses along the scar and pulled back again, “So _pretty_.”

 Virgil could only blink at him, lips quivering. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Touched, angry, sad…all he knew, was that tears were flooding his eyes and he didn’t know what to do.

 Oh, maybe he was scared.

 Patton hesitantly let go, hand lingering on his hip and Virgil was able to take a deeper breath, shaking a little as he slowly processed all of what Patton had said.

 “Why – I mean-“ he swallowed hard and cleared his throat, “I don’t-“

 Patton blinked twice, suddenly burning bright red and eyes widening. He snatched his hand away and Virgil actually missed the contact, “I’m sorry!” he clasped his hands together over his chest, “I thought…I mean…ugh.” He shook his head, “I’m such an idiot, moron-“

 “Whoa, Patton,” Virgil reached out, but hesitated when Patton sniffed suddenly, “I don’t-“

 “I really, _really_ , like you Virgil and I’m just…not _good_ at this.” He admitted, head low, shaking as he wrapped his arms around himself, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your space and all I just-“

 “Wait, stop. Hold on.” Patton actually _flinched?_ Virgil awkwardly put his hands on Patton’s biceps, “You… _like_ me?”

 Patton nodded, finally lifting his head to meet Virgil’s eyes, “Yeah. It was silly, a crush, ya know? Thought it would go away if I just talked to you and then I got nervous whenever you brushed me off and I thought you didn’t like me-“

 Virgil couldn’t help but stare as Patton continued to ramble. The surgeon liked him. The surgeon _he_ liked. And he was _scared_?

 “Are you…scared of me?” Virgil asked, eyes wide as Patton’s own wide eyes met Virgil’s.

 “I mean, yeah but…ugh, you probably already have partner and here I am-“

 “Nope. Single.”

 Patton’s thoughts screeched to an _immediate_ halt. “What?”

 “I’m single.” Virgil shrugged, “And uh, what you did…wasn’t _that_ bad.” Virgil admitted, anxiously shifting his feet and scratching at his chin, “I just…it overwhelmed me-“ Patton opened his mouth apologise again, “-cause I like you too.” Once more, Virgil had managed to bring the surgeon’s thoughts to a halt, “I was…flustered…I guess…”

 “Oh…” Patton breathed, “ _Oh_.” His eyes widened, “ _Oh!_ ” he beamed, “You mean…you’re not…I didn’t…”

 “No.” Virgil snickered, “I didn’t-“

 Virgil didn’t get to finish his thoughts, Patton’s warm hands cupping his cheeks and his brown eyes staring deeply into Virgil’s, “Can we…explore these…feelings…more?” he asked nervously, eyes searching Virgil’s the best they could through his hair.

 Virgil swallowed, “What do you…have in mind?” Virgil squeaked.

 Patton moved closer, their lips inches apart, noses almost brushing, but he paused. Waiting for something. Virgil pushed in a little, and Patton pulled him closer.

 Sparks flew behind Virgil’s eyes when their lips met, soft and silky and gentle but reassuring and confident. Virgil lost the ability to think, the world fell away, and all he could smell was bourbon and Patton’s signature rosy perfume.

 Virgil _melted_.

 This was by far, the _best_ Christmas ever.


	3. The Bird With a Broken Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seemed like a normal day back at work. Fourteen hours of work ahead of him, and December in the rear-view mirror.  
>  Until Logan realizes Virgil is giving him the 'Look', the one that spells trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Surgery Mention, Broken Bones, Drugged Character

 When Logan Smith walked into work that morning, he had expected another fourteen-hour shift involving more blood and screaming than any normal human should ever have to deal with. Didn’t help that he seemed perfect for the Emergency Room. He was almost perpetually calm, even after that one tram crash…

 Logan pushed the unpleasant memories away as he stepped through the sliding doors, suddenly awash with the scent of antiseptic and the chaotic sounds of the emergency room. But to Logan, it was order. Heart monitors, doctors barking orders, nurses hurriedly rushing here and there. He could see beyond the chaos, to the order that was a hospital.

 It never took him long to change, donning a pair of scrubs and carefully pinning some of his hair back with a clip his friend Patton insisted he use. Logan did his best not to think about it too hard. He was going to buy a different one. He just hadn’t had the time. Obviously.

 Pausing at the nurse’s station, he gave the receptionist a small smirk. Virgil glanced up at him from behind his lashes, eyes already shining with a conspiracy and a tiny smirk curled onto his lips.

 “Salutations, Virgil.”

 The scrawnier man was already shuffling through folders on his desk, “Mornin’.” That tiny smirk just wouldn’t leave. Logan actually swore he saw it twitch, “How’s Patton?”

 For a moment, Logan literally forgot about the Christmas party. The memory flashed through his mind and he barely hid his grin behind his hand as Virgil blushed bright red.

 “Fine, I believe.” Logan snickered, glancing down a hallway and sweeping out of the way as a gurney and four nurses raced past.

 He took the moment to sober before turning back to Virgil, who had found the folder and was holding it out expectantly at Logan. That look in his eye was brighter now, his lip twitching evilly, “Fell out of a tree.” Virgil managed to keep his voice even, “Potential broken arm.”

 Logan would never admit that he did actually hesitate when he reached for the folder. There was just _something_ in Virgil’s eyes that made Logan uneasy. The only time he recalled this expression, it ended poorly for everyone.

 Desperate to hide his unease, Logan flicked the folder open, pretending to scan the information inside, “When are you going to text Patton back?”

 Virgil’s back shot straight, his eyes wide and mouth pressed into a thin line as his cheeks started to burn brighter. Revenge sure was sweet.

 He slumped again, eyes narrowed, “I’m gonna...soon…” He pouted slightly, taking a folder from another nurse and typing a few things into his computer quickly.

 Logan couldn’t help but snicker at Virgil, who only raised his eyes to the taller nurse, “Mm-hm.” He mused, still pretending to read the information and flicking through it idly, “If you don’t hurry, he’s going to start spamming you.” Virgil shrank a little, “You left quite the positive impression.”

 Okay, so maybe Logan didn’t want to grind Virgil into the dust _entirely_. He _was_ one of the few people Logan could stand in the entire hospital.

 He actually perked up, eyes bright now with hope before he very quickly hid it, “Oh, yeah?”

 “Mm-hm. Apparently you have lips like silk?” Virgil spluttered, hand flying over his mouth and eyes wide as his blush spread over his entire face, “I have left my patient waiting long enough. See you soon, Virgil.” Logan spun on his heel, gliding through the halls as he absently looked over the patient’s chart, deftly dodging rushing nurses and doctors.

 He’d been able to read and walk since he was a kid, and it was something he usually prided himself on. But Logan _had_ developed a bad habit of forgetting to look over the patient’s actual identity.

 And today he was gonna regret that.

 “Hmm, potential fracture…” he mused aloud, “Fell out of a tree? Must be a kid.” He glanced up for only a second to locate the room number, “No painkillers? Strange.”

 He paused in front of the door, adjusting his glasses as his pale blue eyes fell on the room number just above him. Quickly snapping the folder closed, he reached for the handle and pushed the door open.

 “ _Finally!_ ”

 That was _not_ a child’s voice.

 Logan had seen some strange things in his many years as a nurse. And yet he was nearly _floored_ that a man like _that_ had fallen out of a tree and broken his arm.

 Laid out on a gurney, one arm dramatically flung over his forehead and the other carefully braced over his chest, was one of the most fit looking men Logan had ever seen. And for once, Logan cursed how _gay_ he was.

 It didn’t help when his patient let the hand on his face fall away.

 Bright, piercing green eyes met Logan’s, glittering with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. Logan had to clear his throat and tear his eyes down to the manila folder in his hands. There it was, clear as day:

_Patient: Roman Prince_

_Age: 28_

_Gender: Male_

 The rest kind of fell away, “Roman Prince?” Logan cursed the slight waver in his voice as he forced his suddenly heavy feet to move to the side of the room.

 “That is I.” With his free hand, he gestured to his chest and flinched slightly when he brushed his arm. He gave Logan a slightly watery smile that was meant to be confident.

 The nurse’s eyes flicked from the slightly pained expression on Roman’s face to his arm and back, “Do you need some painkillers?” he tried to put the manila folder down on muscle memory.

 And he missed, stumbling a little before correcting himself. _Stop staring, and do your job. Your patient is clearly in pa_ -

 “Not really.” Roman answered with a nonchalant shrug of his other shoulder, “Broke a leg last year. Kind of adjusted.”

 At that admission, Logan’s eyebrows rose, “You break bones often, Mr. Prince?”

 Roman scoffed, still moving too much for his arm. He only winced slightly, “Roman, _please_.” He gave Logan a half-smile that nearly melted the nurse into his shoes, “And, um, maybe?” he chuckled.

 Logan couldn’t help but sigh, “And why were you in a tree, M- Roman?”

 A brighter smile spread on his patient’s face when Logan used his first name, “Well,” he tore his eyes away to look at the door, “I must admit,” he ran his hand through his hair, “I may end up in trees more often than the average man.”

 Logan snickered, barely catching it with his hand and trying to hide it by clearing his throat. Roman glanced sidelong at Logan, his green eyes sweeping the nurse up and down as Logan tried to compose himself. He managed to look away before the nurse got himself together, “Have you received an x-ray yet?”

 Roman sank back into the pillows, “Nope. You’re the first person I’ve seen since I was taken out of the ambulance.” He sighed with an eye roll, “I really didn’t _need_ an ambulance.”

 Logan’s eyes widened, eyebrows rising as he moved to the manila folder, “Are you implying that you would have _driven_ to the hospital?”

 A coy smile spread over Roman’s face, green eyes sliding to meet Logan’s sidelong. Logan’s gay brain betrayed him again, his cheeks flushing, “Maybe.” His voice was just low enough, just teasing enough for Logan’s breath to catch in his throat.

 Once more, Logan had to hide it with a hard cough, “For one, I am grateful that someone called an ambulance _for_ you.” One of Roman’s dark eyebrows arched, “At least we aren’t treating you for vehicular accident trauma.”

 The nurse immediately regretted the words. He had learned over the years that words like that were-

 A hearty, strong laugh interrupted Logan’s thoughts as he remembered to write in a request for an x-ray in the folder. It didn’t actually do much to hide his blush, but hopefully it would hide the fact he wasn’t breathing right.

  _Virgil’s going to notice how shaking my handwriting is….crap._

 “Ah, but that would give me more time with you.”

 If Logan had been a computer, the error sound would have resounded. As it was, as a human, he froze. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, face flushing red, but he was too busy attempting to process what had just been said.

 After what felt like an eternity, Logan straightened and nervously adjusted his glasses, “R-roman, I need to req-request an x-ray for your arm.” He took a deep breath to steady his breathing, but his patient was giving him a look that made it nigh impossible, “I will be right back to treat your scrapes.”

 Roman held Logan’s gaze, eye’s half-lidded, that sly smirk still spread over his face. There was something like triumph glittering in his eyes, and he slowly licked his lips before he answered, “Do hurry back.” He teased, “It gets awful lonely in here.”

 Logan hugged the folder, squeaked his response and practically sprinted out of the room. When Virgil caught of him back at the station, he started cackling.

 Okay, maybe Virgil won this round.

 

*

 

 Considerably more composed, Logan returned to his patient’s room. Roman had his head tilted back, eyes closed, looking surprisingly relaxed for someone with a broken arm over his chest. With no painkillers.

 Logan swallowed nervously as he moved around to a small first-aid station, sifting through the various drawers for wipes, dressings and scissors. He couldn’t get the images of Roman’s smirk and now his relaxed expression out of his mind.

 “You’ve returned.” Roman’s voice was deep from fatigue but still teasing and warm, “Have you come to treat my wounds?”

 Logan nodded, trying desperately to return his typically professional demeanour, “You will be going for an x-ray before I’m finished, but you’ll be returned so I can continue.”

 When Logan turned, a pair of scissors in one hand and dressing in the other, Roman was smirking up at him again, “Hmm, you make it sound like a date.”

 Logan barely managed to keep himself from getting flustered again, sweeping to Roman’s side and focussing on the cuts. He was not thinking about how darkly tanned his skin was. Or the multiple little scars that dotted this side of his face. Or the way Roman was trying to smother a grin.

 “I would recommend some painkillers before the x-ray.” Logan once more attempted to pull his professional mask back on, “They will be moving your arm about quite a bit.”

 His patient was quiet for longer than Logan had expected, and he realised Roman had paled slightly, looking grimly to the door.

 “Roman?”

 “Hm? Oh, my apologies. I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll take you up on that actually.”

 Logan gave him a practiced smile, moving around the bed to collect what he’d need to administer it to Roman. As he was preparing the painkiller, an almost evil thought occurred to Logan, and he was glad he had his back to his patient.

 The grin that broke out onto his face was almost _sinister_.

 But when he turned to Roman, he was the epitome of professional calm. Roman eyed him carefully, looking a little less comfortable as Logan sat himself on a stool by his side, “Nervous?”

 Roman chuckled nervously, “Mm-hm.”

 “Don’t be.” He felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he offered Roman a small green whistle, “I’m sure a healthy, strong man like you can handle a little analgesic.”

 Roman’s eyes blew wide, he spluttered and it was Logan’s turn to take in Roman’s flustered expression. Seeing him stunned into blushing silence was more satisfying than he’d expected.

 Logan grinned, turning his head to hide it quickly, and started patching up a graze on his thigh. Obviously more accustomed to flirting, than being flirted with, Roman was silent as he drew in more from the whistle.

 

*

 

 Turned out, Roman needed a little surgery to reset his arm. And he’d broken a few ribs. So, Roman _was_ going to spend more time in the hospital than originally thought. All the same, Virgil made sure Logan was assigned to his room.

 On his rounds, Logan dropped into Roman’s room and was surprised to find him awake, if not a little groggy from the anaesthetic. “Roman?” he called softly as he entered the room, giving Roman a small smile as he slowly turned his head.

 Another man stepped out of the nearby bathroom, his eyes bloodshot and expression full of worry. Logan thought his heart dropped into his stomach.

 “See!” Roman cried suddenly, his free arm pointing excitedly at Logan, “I told you, Thomas!” he slurred, “I have a pretty nurse!”

 Logan’s back went straight, Thomas’ eyes blew wide, and Roman giggled to himself. Before Logan had a chance to apologise or explain the effects of the drugs Roman was under, Thomas threw his head back and started roaring with laughter.

 “Yes, Roman, you do.”

 Roman wriggled happily, making a tiny squeaking noise of pleasure, grinning to himself.

 “I’m sorry,” Thomas once more beat Logan to the punch, “This moron is my brother.” He hitched a thumb as Roman let his head fall back onto the pillow, “He hasn’t upset you, has he?”

 Relief flooded Logan, “Not at all.” The knowing look Thomas gave Logan made him smile a little wider, “Has he complained of pain-“

 “Thomas…” Roman whined, head lolling slightly, “I wanna talk to my pretty nurse.” He pouted at him and Thomas snickered, “Give ‘im back.”

 Logan sighed, giving Thomas an apologetic look and receiving one in return, with a smirk and shake of his head. Logan stepped over to Roman’s bedside, “I hope you know that flirting with nurses can get you in trouble?”

 Roman’s grin grew, “But you flirted _back_.” He whispered loudly, grinning brighter as Logan’s blush crept up his neck.

 Logan cleared his throat, trying to ignore that Thomas _was still in the room_ , “Shh. Secrets, Roman.” Roman giggled, nodding, “How are you feeling now, though? No pain?”

 It took Roman a few moments to formulate an answer, “Not really.” He shrugged with his good shoulder, “But…I am sad.”

 Logan tilted his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing, “And why is that?” the nurse decided to humour him as he checked the IV bags by Roman’s side.

 “Because I wanna ask you on a date.” Thomas spluttered as Logan froze, “But my mouth won’t listen to my brain.”

 “Alright, big guy,” Thomas swept to Logan’s rescue and giving the nurse an apologetic smirk, “You should get some sleep, huh?”

 “But-“ Roman whined and Thomas shook his head.

 Logan finished up as Roman huffed and pouted, but started dozing off all the same. Thomas followed Logan out of the room.

 “I’m so sorry.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “He’s such a moron.”

 Logan smiled, “He is also drugged to high heaven. I can’t hold it against him.”

 Thomas eyes twinkled with an unspoken joke, something Logan recognised from Patton, “I hope he wasn’t too much before.”

 Again, Logan shook his head, “Some patients are known to flirt under stress.” Logan shrugged, “Makes them more comfortable.”

 Thomas snickered, “I can assure you, that is _not_ Roman.” He quickly glanced around the hall, “Last time he wailed out _Agony_ from the musical.”

 “Oh.” Logan’s traitorous heart started to flutter, “Thomas, would you be kind enough to do me a favour?”

 

*

 

 When Roman woke up later, groggy and confused, he was saddened to hear that he’d had to go into surgery. And that his ‘pretty nurse’ had been put onto a different room.

 In an attempt to cheer up his brother, Thomas pointed out something on Roman’s cast.

 There, in pristine dark blue print, was the name _Logan_ and a phone number. Thomas had never heard his brother squeal so loudly.

 


End file.
